


a spider by any other name

by thundersnowstorm



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersnowstorm/pseuds/thundersnowstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good is something you do.</p><p>Natalia Romanova, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a spider by any other name

**Author's Note:**

> And so I continue my habit of writing long, angsty fics about Natasha. Except this one now incorporates the itsy bitsy spider poem in it because why the fuck not. The quote from the summary is from the amazing Kamala Khan aka Ms. Marvel. As usual, the connections to canon (movies or comics) are tenuous at best.
> 
> Warning for animal death (not Lucky though, I promise) and child abuse.
> 
> (For context, Natasha's was born in 1984 here.)

_The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout_

1992

“Trainee 11, to my office,” barked the supervisor’s voice over the intercom.

Natalia (for that was her real name, for all that they called her by a number) stood up from her spot at the table, deposited her dishes neatly, and made her way to the office.

“Sir?” she asked.

The supervisor was a thin, hawkish man with disdainful eyes. He looked down at her through his spectacles and said, “Trainee 11, due to your instructors ranking you at the top of your group, you have been chosen to receive extra training from an asset that has been lent to this organization. Report to Gymnasium 3 after your lessons. You are dismissed.”

Questions burst within Natalia, but she knew better than to burden this man with any of them. She wondered all through the morning about this supposed asset but she kept her focus on her training, not her increasingly wandering thoughts.

At 1800 sharp she reported to Gymnasium 3 to find a bunch of heavily armed agents trying to pretend they weren’t heavily armed and a man sitting on a bench, staring at the ceiling.

“Hello,” she said, unsure of what she was supposed to do now.

The man stood up and she had to keep herself from shrinking back at the sight of him. He cut an imposing figure, but the most striking part of him was the metal arm grafted onto his shoulder, surrounded by scar tissue.

“Hello,” said the man.

“Trainee 11,” said one of the agents. “This is the Winter Soldier. He belongs to one of the Red Room’s sister organizations, but he will be working with us for the foreseeable future. He will further your instruction in English and hand-to-hand combat.”

She nodded and took a few steps closer to the Soldier. He had odd eyes. Unlike most of the other operatives she met, his eyes were not hard or cruel, merely blank. Somehow that was even more unsettling.

He stood up. “Attack me,” said the Soldier in a soft voice.

Natalia kicked out at his knees. He sidestepped it and she aimed a punch at his midsection that he blocked.

“Again.”

They continued like that for the better part of an hour. He never attacked her back, and she never landed a successful strike. He commented on her form on occasion.

“You are small, and you will most likely be like that for your whole life,” he said. “You will often be fighting larger opponents, not just little girls. You must be quicker and more flexible than your opponent if you want to overpower them.”

She feinted a kick at his knees again, but this time followed up with a kick to his ribs. He stumbled back.

“Good,” he said, with the faintest hint of a smile.

That stopped her cold in her tracks. No instructor had ever praised her on her achievements. Success was expected but never rewarded. Failure was inexcusable and always punished.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet, so the other agents wouldn’t hear.

They moved on to English. They sat cross-legged on the matt, and he coached her through a conversation.

“Soften your consonants and slur your words a little,” the Soldier advised. “An obvious foreign accent will blow your cover right away.”

They met like this every few days, and Natalia’s progress skyrocketed. She landed more and more strikes, and her English became more fluid. Eventually she got used to the fact that he would not raise his voice at her or hit her. It was an odd feeling.

The purpose of this training soon revealed itself, and Natalia was paired up with the Soldier for her first mission. They were flown to London, posing as an American man visiting with his harmless little sister.

Natalia lifted the keys out of an MI6 agent’s pocket, they broke into a facility on the outskirts of the city, the Soldier killed the few technicians still there, and they pocketed a new experimental technology with hours to spare. Pride was not encouraged in the Black Widow Trainees, but she couldn’t help but feel a little for her first successful mission.

They were walking back to the drop off point when a small corner bakery caught Natalia’s eye. The smell of baked goods wafted out into the street and made her feel a little dizzy.

The Soldier noticed her hesitation.

“Do you want a pastry?” he asked.

“It’s okay, we should keep going,” she mumbled, afraid he would snap and reprimand her.

“Come on. I’ll get you something.”

Stunned, she followed him into the warm, bright bakery. The Trainees were given the same food as soldiers and taste had never factored into their nutrition requirements. Here, she was inundated with beautiful little pastries and steaming loaves of bread.

The owner smiled down at her. “Hello, what would you two like?”

Natalia covered up her overwhelmed confusion by picking the first item of food she could recognize. “A chocolate croissant please,” she said, hesitant.

The Soldier ordered nothing for himself, he just handed the right number of coins to the woman.

They took a seat in the little table outside the bakery and he handed her the pastry. She bit into the croissant with trepidation, but nothing happened. Instead, her mouth was flooded with the buttery, flaky crust and the warm, melted chocolate core. It was like nothing she had ever tasted before.

“Thank you,” Natalia said. “This… this was not within mission parameters.”

“No,” said the Soldier. “No, it wasn’t, was it?”

He shrugged.

She finished every crumb of the croissant, savoring every bite, and licking her fingers when she was done.

“What’s your name?” he asked all of a sudden.

She froze. “Trainees are only supposed to be referred to by their numbers.”

“You still have a name though, don’t you?”

She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but she answered despite herself. “Natalia. It’s Natalia.”

“You don’t look like a Natalia.”

She giggled despite herself. “What’s a Natalia supposed to look like?”

“I don’t know, but you don’t look like one. You look more like a Natasha. Little Natasha.”

“No one’s ever called me that before.”

“Well now someone has.”

“What’s your name?” She was feeling emboldened.

The Soldier’s smile disappeared. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know your own name?”

He just shrugged. “I just don’t.”

“Well I think you look like a Yakov. A Yasha.”

“So we’re Yasha and Tasha from Russia, huh.”

“That’s us.”

Their time was dwindling, so they threw away the used napkins and made their way to the drop off site to be transported back to the Red Room facility.

The next day Natalia was told the Winter Soldier would no longer be working with the Red Room. Then, they made her forget about the man with the scarred, gentle hands and the even gentler voice.

…

2016

“Put me down Clint or I swear to everything you hold dear I will make you regret it!”

Clint seems to pause for a moment to consider a threat, but Natasha has less than a second to breathe a sigh of relief before she is chucked into the water. She flails a bit, more for show than anything, and surfaces, wet hair framing her head like a curtain.

“Bastard,” she tells him, sticking her tongue out at him. He grins and jumps in the water to join her. The second after he surfaces she’s on him, dunking him underwater and jumping onto his shoulders.

“Y’all aren’t much more mature than my four year-old nieces, you know that?” says Sam from his lounge chair, margarita in hand and sunglasses perched on his nose. “I can’t believe I regularly watch you two kill Nazis with your thighs.”

“Tasha’s the only one who can do that,” says Clint. “I tried it once and she busted a stitch laughing at me.”

“Aww, Natasha, your teacher’s so proud,” says a shirtless Bucky from the doorway. “I taught her that move, didja know that Steve?”

“Stop bragging Yasha and get yourself and your boyfriend in the water already.” Natasha spits a mouthful of water at Clint, who has decided to try and splash her whenever he thinks she’s not looking.

Steve shoves Bucky into the pool before jumping in himself. What follows is a mix between a wrestling match, a water fight, and some weird form of foreplay that has Natasha rolling her eyes at their antics.

“Saaam, join us in the water,” she whines.

“I have a drink to finish,” he says, waving it in her direction. “Tony Stark was kind enough to install a margarita machine in this facility and you bet your ass I’m gonna take advantage of it.”

She heaves a big mock sigh and lets herself fall backward in the water. Clint and Steve start talking about baseball, so Bucky wades over to Natasha.

“Hey,” he says, poking her in the side.

“Hey yourself.” She pokes him back.

His smile fades all of a sudden. She follows his eye line and finds him staring at the little white patch of scar tissue right above her bikini bottom.

“Oh. That.”

“I did that, didn’t I?” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ve been over this,” she says, taking his hand. “You aren’t to blame for what you did as the Soldier, okay? You didn’t remember me, hell, I didn’t remember you until I saw you in Odessa.”

“It still doesn’t make it alright what I did.”

“But beating yourself up over it doesn’t help you either. We’ve all done terrible things in our pasts, but those don’t make us who we are today. Come on. Sam’s finished his margarita, let’s get him into the water.” She flashes a mischievous grin at Bucky.

Moments later, a sopping wet Sam is yelling at them and chasing them around the pool as Steve and Clint cheer him on and Bucky’s smile is making its way back onto his face.

…

1995

Natalia knew the moment she woke up that something was wrong.

Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls and when she sat up in bed, her vision blacked out for a moment.

“Get dressed for the mess hall in five minutes,” barked Sergeant Petrov, a Red Room administrator with a scar slicing across his cheekbone down to his neck. Natalia didn’t like him; he always smelled wrong.

The other girls were already half-dressed by the time she gathered the strength to wobble to her feet. A quick scan of the room confirmed she was the only one feeling like this, feeling so weak.

 _Have no weakness, show no weakness,_ her instructors would yell at her as she did her grand jetés, her katas, a hundred, a thousand times in a row.

Natalia was not weak. She couldn’t afford to be.

She gritted her teeth and got her uniform on as quickly as she could without passing out. She filed into line with the other girls and avoided the other girls’ eyes as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Breakfast was forced down, a bowl of kasha that made her stomach want to rebel with every swallow.

Her English lessons went well, even with this weakness that had invaded her body. She had always been excellent in that class.

The next lessons were self-defense. She could already feel her stomach turn at the prospect.

She was paired up with Trainee 6, a tall, lanky girl with bland grey eyes. They took their positions. Their instructor yelled, “Begin!” Natalia was half a second too slow, and 6 had the advantage. It was as if she had no control over her limbs, and it was all she could do to block 6’s strikes.

She wasn’t surprised when she ended up flat on the ground, but the instructor was.

“Again!” she yelled.

They sparred again, and again Natalia ended up on the floor. Desperation started leaking in through her defenses. Normally a defeat this bad would’ve ended with 6 being ordered to finish her.

Natalia clenched her fists but couldn’t seem to stop them from trembling.

“Trainee 11, come here,” said the instructor. Natalia complied. “What have we told you?”

“Have no weakness,” she whispered.

“Speak up!”

“Have no weakness. Show no weakness,” she said, almost shouting.

“Exactly. So what was that?”

Copper flooded her mouth as she bit down hard on her lip. “Weakness.”

“Can you give me an explanation for your inexcusable weakness today, or should I have you fight Trainee 6 again?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know what’s happening, it’s just my head hurts and I’m dizzy and nauseous and I can’t help it,” she said, the words tripping over themselves in the rush to get them out. “I’m so sorry ma’am, I’m sorry.”

The instructor narrowed her eyes. “Come with me.” Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the gym, Natalia right behind her.

They arrived at the medical wing and Natalia felt her confusion grow. Were they going to do more tests or trials on her? She didn’t like the tests. They made her feel weird, even weirder than now.

Doctor Azarov was at his desk when they walked in. “Agent Karenskaya, what brings you here today with Trainee 11?”

“The girl is sick. Normally I’d make her push through the discomfort anyway, but this girl is one of our most promising candidates. I’d like her to have her back to top condition by tomorrow.”

The instructor disappeared out the door they had entered in without another word.

Sick? Natalia couldn’t be sick. The tests they had done so long ago were supposed to eliminate her weaknesses. She was strong, she had to be.

“Lie down on one of the beds and wait for me to find your file,” said Doctor Azarov.

She took a seat on the closest hospital bed. In the bed next to her lay an emaciated girl Natalia vaguely recognized from a few months ago. Purple and yellow bruises mottled the skin around where IV tubes were hooked up to her listless body.

Natalia looked away.

“Alright, Trainee 6,” said Doctor Azarov, scanning a brown folder. “Real name Natalia Alianovna Romanova, age eleven, 35 kilograms, 140 centimeters. Oh, look at this, you’ve shown a highly favorable response to the Black Widow procedures. Lie back.”

He checked her temperature, shone a pen light in her eyes and felt at her lymph nodes. His hands were soft from lack of physical labor, but they treated her as one would treat a mannequin. She lay still and let him make whatever conclusions he needed.

He disappeared for a bit and returned with an IV and a bag of antibiotics. He attached the IV to her arm and then went back to his desk.

Natalia spent a boring night in the infirmary attempting not to feel alone and failing. She was always alone, this should be nothing new. But while she shivered underneath the thin hospital sheet, waiting for her fever to break, it was hard not to let the icy tendrils of loneliness curl through her veins toward her heart.

When she got back, Trainee 6 decided she would try to vie for her position as top of the class.

Natalia broke her tibia, two ribs, and fractured her spinal column. Trainee 6 was never seen from again.

…

2011

Natasha had felt the sneeze start to well up in SHIELD’s sexual harassment seminar of all things, but had restrained herself from interrupting the terribly acted video that was probably as old as she was. (For an organization that prides itself on its top of the line technology you’d think they could’ve spent a little more effort in the video.)

Once in the hall, all it takes is an unfortunate waft of air conditioning for her already stuffy nose to rebel on her.

Clint stares at her, surprised. “How is it even your sneezes are terrifying?”

“Shud up,” she mutters, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

“Hey are you sick? You don’t look too hot.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, a statement quickly contradicted by her next sneeze. Clint hands her a tissue.

“Why are you at work, you look like you’re about to pass out. Don’t tell me that video was fascinating enough to entice you to come.”

“We have that mission briefing this afternoon, I can’t miss it.”

“Yes you can, come on. You’re gonna be useless with a cold on a mission. The world can hold up without you for a few days. I think you’ve earned more than a few sick days.”

Despite her copious protests, she lets herself be dragged out into Clint’s wreck of a car. He wordlessly hands her his sweatshirt, which she accepts with a silent thanks. SHIELD uniforms are great for maneuvering in, but not so great for keeping warm in.

She doesn’t remember much of Clint driving her to her apartment and him bundling her up the stairs and into bed. The last thing she remembers is him pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering “sleep”.

Natasha wakes up what feels like what could be a few minutes or a few days later in her bed, a mountain of blankets on top of her, and a bowl of steaming soup and a Gatorade on her nightstand. The soup was probably made from a can, but it’s warm and filling, and Natasha feels herself go warm with gratitude.

She buries herself further into the nest of blankets and lets herself drift off again.

…

_Down came the rain and washed the spider out_

2000

The Red Room had fallen.

Chaos reigned outside the broom closet, as NATO soldiers captured or killed Red Room personnel, but in here, Natalia was alone with her thoughts and a spider weaving its silky web in the corner.

She owed none of these people her allegiance. The Red Room had done nothing but hurt her in all the years she had known them. But NATO had not done anything worthy of her allegiance either.

The spider floated down to her shoulder. She crushed it between her thumb and index finger.

Heavy boot steps stopped in front of the broom closet door. Natalia's fingers drifted closer to the knife hidden at her ankle.

The door opened. A faceless man in black tac gear stood over her. He pointed a Kalashnikov at her, but lowered it after a moment.

"Are you okay?" he asked in choppy Russian.

Natalia knew what she looks like. A small, delicate girl-woman who couldn't be more than sixteen curled up on the floor in a white nightgown. She let her lip wobble and her eyes go big to complete the picture of innocence.

"I'm scared," she said in a small voice that would be more at home in an eight year-old.

"I can help you," said the NATO soldier and extends a hand.

Natalia grabbed his wrist, pulled him down, launched her legs around his neck, and squeezed. The crack was lost among the sounds coming from outside.

She closed the door and made her plan quickly. She stripped the soldier impersonally and when he was down to his underclothes, exchanged her bloody nightgown for his gear.

The tac gear was laughably big on her, but she adjusted it where possible, and as long as no one took too close a look at her, she would be able to pass through without too much trouble.

Natalia grabbed the Kalashnikov from where it had fallen and headed out the door.

...

2014

SHIELD has fallen.

SHIELD has fallen, but here in Clint's apartment, Natasha can almost pretend nothing has happened. The low hum of a basketball game from the TV, Lucky eating questionable things under the dinner table, Clint lying on the couch next to her and throwing darts at a target on the ceiling, all of it could be a scene from six months ago.

"I can hear you thinking you know," Clint says.

"That doesn't make any sense, the whole point of thinking is that other people can't hear you."

"Be that as it may, I can still tell when something's weighing on your mind. D'you wanna talk about it?"

She tugs at the frayed sleeves of her sweatshirt. "I'm just - do you think I made the right decision? Releasing all of HYDRA’s, all of SHIELD’s, files online?"

"What?" Clint turns to face her, abandoning his game of darts. "Of course you did, they were Nazis hell-bent on turning the whole world into some fucked up police state. Those are not the kind of people you're supposed to leave be."

"No, I know that, that's not what I'm saying. It's just - wouldn't it have been easier if I had just made some kind of deal with them in exchange for protection of you, Steve, Maria, and Nick? We wouldn't be dealing with the US government trying to decide if we're terrorists or heroes, or any of the constant fuckery from the HYDRA fallout. A lot of good people, have gotten hurt because of the file dump, you know that."

"Sure, it would've been easier. But that's not the kind of person you are Tasha. You wouldn't trade millions of lives and the freedom of billions more for a hypothetical peace. You're not the kind of person to take the easy way out."

Natasha lets out a short, huffed laugh and pulls her knees closer to her chest. "I'm not a good person Clint. I try to be, but I’m not. You know how many people I've hurt or killed, both for the Red Room and for SHIELD. And just by the fact that I'm having these - these fucked up thoughts of sacrificing millions of people for my own selfish, stupid desires, isn't that proof enough that I'm not?"

Clint cups her face in his hands and forces her eyes to meet his. "Natasha Romanoff, you are one of the best people I know. Being good isn't about not having fucked up thoughts, we all have them. Being good is about _doing_ good."

"I've done a whole lot of bad too Clint, you know that," she whispers.

"You have to let go of your past Tasha, you know that. Yeah, you've hurt and killed innocent people, so have I. So has Cap. And you were literally raised for it. What's important now is how you've tried to go good, to reform yourself. You're wiping that blood off your ledger, as you'd like to say, and that's what matters now."

She holds his gaze for a long time, unblinking, then drops it with a small smile. Clint wraps his arms around her in a tight hug.

"Thanks. You're a good friend Clint."

"So are you Tasha. You're also a good person, don't forget that."

"Yeah, yeah."

…

2003

It had been three years since Natalia had left that Red Room base behind to burn. More than enough time to find out where she fit in the big wide world.

She worked for the Russian mob for a few months as an enforcer and girlfriend to one of the top officers. She soon found the work demeaning and petty, so she slit the man’s throat and ran off with his money. It was more than enough to set her up in a beach-front mansion in some tiny Mediterranean island, but there wasn’t much she knew how to do that didn’t involve killing.

Teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. Teach a woman to kill…

She set herself up as a freelance assassin of sorts, using her connections from the Red Room to find herself a nice niche in the cutthroat business. The Black Widow was known for being very expensive, but very good at what she did.

So that is how Natalia found herself like this, posing as a maid to an English banker with ties to the more unsavory elements of the arms trade, elements that had gotten tired with his demands.

“Mr. Livingstone? I have your afternoon tea as you so requested.” The maid who had actually been tasked with bringing it was now unconscious in a closet in the basement.

“Come in.”

Mr. Livingstone was a portly man of maybe sixty, with watery eyes and a receding hairline he tried to cover up. A small, yappy pug was curled up at his feet and paid her no more attention it would an annoying spider.

“Put the tea on my desk and you may go,” he said, not even looking up from his paperwork.

Natalia walked toward him, but on the last step, tripped and splashed tea all over him.

“Son of a bitch what –”

“Mr. Livingstone I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“– the fuck was that you clumsy –”

She made a show of mopping up the tea with a napkin over his protests, and while he was distracted, slipped a syringe into her gloved hand.

“I promise I will have you fired, you –”

“That’s nice Mr. Livingstone,” Natalia said and plunged the syringe into his neck.

His eyes went wide and his entire body started spasming. The damned dog took one look at its owner’s distress and started barking fit to bring the entire house here.

“Fuck,” Natalia bit out, and shot the dog in the head.

The next morning all the local news stations were lamenting over the banker (who had donated plenty to most of them) and what a tragedy it was that he had had a heart attack. Less known was the fact that his beloved dog Ruthie had disappeared that same night and that far away, a woman with many names was now half a million richer.

…

2012

After the Battle of New York, Director Fury hadn’t put up any protest when Natasha told him she would be on vacation for the next month, barring any crises the size of this last one. She had changed out her (torn, singed, and just generally not reusable) SHIELD uniform for a pair of comfortable jeans and t-shirt advertising an old Russian band from the 90s.

Getting Clint to leave his apartment after the things Loki had made him do had been quite the chore, but eventually he had caved and let her drag him and Lucky to Central Park to lounge about with bowls of frozen yogurt from a nearby café.

Natasha throws a ball and Lucky bounds off after it, leaving her with a chance to really look at Clint.

He has aged in the past week, but aliens tend to do that to a person. What really catches her eye is the way he has his arms wrapped around himself, as though to make himself smaller and occupy less space.

“Are you sleeping okay?” she asks. He shrugs. “Clint, _talk_ to me, please. You can’t keep all your hurt trapped inside until it bubbles out and explodes.”

“What is there to say Nat? I was put under some creepy mind-control shit by an alien slash god, hurt a lot of good people, including you, and then fought off an alien invasion with a ninety year-old, a guy who turns green when he’s angry, another alien slash god, a billionaire, and my best friend. I’m having nightmares because of all this shit, and I really don’t want to see a SHIELD therapist. End of story.”

Lucky trots back over to them and drops the slobbery ball onto Natasha’s lap and pushes his head under her hand so she can scratch him. Clint cracks a smile.

“That’s a good start. Just – try to talk to someone if you can, okay? You were there for me when I first came to SHIELD, so don’t doubt I wouldn’t do the same for you. None of what happened was under your control, just remember that.”

Lucky flops across both of their laps for maximum petting. Sensing his owner’s emotional turmoil, he gives Clint’s fingers a thorough cleaning with his tongue in an attempt to make him feel better.

“Okay Tasha, thanks. Same goes for you, y’know. You went through some pretty fucked up shit in the battle too. Emotions are good to express and all that.” He flashes her a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up and eat your damn fro-yo Clinton,” Natasha says, but rests her chin on his shoulder nevertheless.

…

_Out came the sun and dried up all the rain_

2006

FUBAR did not come close to describing the shitstorm this had become. Whatever was more fucked up than ‘Fucked Up Beyond All Relief” was this, because the very possibility of being able to walk away from this warehouse was dwindling by the second.

Somehow, two rival arms dealer had gotten tangled up, a Russian gang lord had familial ties somewhere so they had come too, the Hungarian and Serbian governments were trying to stop the fighting with terrible results, and even fucking _SHIELD_ had gotten involved somehow. Natalia had all but forgotten whose side she was on in this mess of a firefight and would settle for “whoever’s side lets her live”.

She was never visiting Budapest again.

She ducked behind a pile of debris that had once been a bunch of crates and caught her breath for a second before she had to start running again to avoid the bullets that seemed to be following her like moths to light.

Natalia shot behind herself without looking. For once, the odds seemed to like her and there was a yell of pain from someone who’d gotten unlucky enough as to get in her crossfire.

She half-fell, half-leapt behind a make-shift barricade of desks in order to avoid the arrow that had sprouted out of nowhere. She threw off a few shots in the direction the arrow had come from, but to no avail. Damn SHIELD agents.

At least the mob members seemed perfectly happy killing each other. Maybe that would mean they’d let her leave and they could all forget this god-awful day.

Natalia had just started to plan her escape when a flash of red caught her eye. She turned her head and found herself face to face with the white, terrified face of a child in a red shirt proclaiming she was a princess in gold glittery letters.

Fuck. Situation FUBAR had just escalated again.

She told herself the girl didn’t matter, that there was a chance the SHIELD or other government agents would get to her before someone else did. She told herself she wasn’t even sure she could get herself out of this, much less a kid as well.

She told herself all of this, and yet still found herself inching closer to the child.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Natalia said in her most soothing voice when the girl shrank away from her. “You speak English?” The girl nodded. “Okay, you’re going to be fine, I won’t hurt you. I’m Nadia. What’s your name?”

“Sajida,” whispered the girl in accented English. “I’m scared.”

Natalia knew the girl was most likely not a threat, but she still found herself scanning Sajida’s body for any possible indicator she had been trained like Natalia had been. She found none, and found herself letting out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“Okay Sajida, I’m gonna get us out of this, you understand?”

Sajida gave her a small nod.

“When I say run, you run to that door,” she said, pointing at the large doors maybe twenty feet away through which a sliver of sunlight could be seen. “I’ll be right behind you keeping us safe. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

Natalia peeked back out from the desk and shot at whatever heads she could see. The gunfire abated for a moment. She crouched back down to look Sajida in the eyes and said, “Run.”

They ran. Natalia threw a grenade behind them to cover their escape. Acrid smoke filled the warehouse. The doors got closer. A sharp, sudden pain in her shoulder made her stumble but the adrenaline coursing through her veins wouldn’t let her stop.

Sajida got to the doors and pushed through them into the light. Natalia threw another grenade back inside the doors for good measure. A mess of police officers and cars formed a border farther back, but they lowered their guns when they saw the wild-eyed woman and child running towards them.

A frantic-looking man pushed through the police and made a wordless cry at the sight of Sajida. She launched herself into his arms and clutched her father tight. The two exchanged a stream of rapid-fast Arabic as they tried to reassure each other the other was okay. Natalia’s heart ached a little at the sight, and she turned away to go and avoid the messy business of dealing with the police.

“Excuse me, miss,” called the man. Natalia stopped. “I just – I want to thank you for saving my daughter. I brought Sajida along on my business trip and she got stuck in the warehouse I was working with at the worst possible time it would seem.” He laughed, the kind of laugh reserved only for those who have gone through so much they’re not quite sure how they’re still sane. “When I saw what the warehouse had become, I thought I had lost my dear Sajida forever. I am forever in your debt.”

“Yeah, sure,” Natalia mumbled. She had to grit her teeth together to keep herself from blacking out. “Have um, have a nice day. Bye Sajida.”

She pushed her way through the mass of police and civilians, keeping her head low and her face covered. The bullet wound ached with every step. She needed to get to her safe house.

…

High above in the rafters of the warehouse, the man with the arrows watched her red hair disappear into the crowd.

…

2015

Clint has decided to fuck off to some nice island in the Caribbean while Natasha and Steve work on putting together the new team of Avengers, so she’s been left with the task of walking Lucky. Not that she should be complaining; she likes Lucky, and the favor Clint now owes her is of seriously monumental proportions. She’ll have fun cashing that one in.

Lucky stops to sniff at what must be a particularly interesting clump of grass, and then decides it’s perfect for peeing on.

“No, Mom, I swear it’s her, come _on._ ”

Natasha turns and found herself face to face with a girl who’s somewhere around twelve and looks like she’s about to pass out from excitement.

“I _told_ you it was her,” says the girl. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You’re Natasha Romanoff, aren’t you?”

There is a dog peeing behind Natasha and she’s been wearing the same flannel shirt for the past two days, but the girl is looking at her like she’s an A-list celebrity so she smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. What’s your name?”

“I’m Sarah. Oh my god. Would it be weird if I asked for a photo with you?” Sarah looks like she’s about to achieve lift off using her excitement as energy alone.

Natasha hesitates, but can’t find it in her to say no. “Sure, why not.”

Sarah’s mom, who is looking a little star-struck herself, takes out her phone and snaps a couple pictures of the two of them grinning away. Lucky has thankfully finished peeing and the camera just catches him sitting nicely by Natasha’s side.

“Thank you _so_ much for that,” gushes Sarah. “You’re just my absolute favorite superhero. I mean, you were the first female avenger, and you exposed HYDRA, and you’ve just overcome so _much_ but you’re still going, and you’re really badass, and I’m probably embarrassing myself right now so I’m gonna shut up and leave now.”

On impulse, Natasha reaches out to Sarah and hugs her. “I – um, wow, thanks. Thank you. That, um, that means a lot to me.”

She pulls away from the hug, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yeah,” Sarah says, dazed. “Thank you, so so much. Wow. This was amazing. Um, bye I guess?”

Natasha waves Sarah and her mother off.

Lucky pushes at her hip with his nose, impatient.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters at Lucky. “We’re going. I can’t believe I took a selfie with, well, I guess she’s a fan? I have fans now? This is weird. Don’t tell Clint about this and I’ll let you sleep on the bed tonight.”

…

2006

Hijacking a SHIELD database told Natalia that the man who had been stalking her the past few months is codenamed Hawkeye, and had been tasked to kill her in Budapest. Apparently she hadn’t been doing as good a job of staying out of SHIELD’s radar as she thought.

Since he was already stalking her, she decided to stalk him back. She caught him unawares on mission in Sokovia and put a knife in his hand. Another encounter in Dublin had her digging an arrow out of her hip.

They continued like this for a few months, in this odd, murderous dance across countries and time zones and she got increasingly more on edge. She didn’t know what this SHIELD agent wanted. He’s had multiple kill shots but has taken none of them.

(So has she.)

All Hawkeye seemed to want is to talk to her. She didn’t understand this man.

Natalia tracked him to a bar in New York City. She watched him order a beer, flirt with the bartender a little, win a game of darts, and finally slip out the door around midnight. She followed him at a safe distance until the street was empty enough for her to pull him into a dark alleyway and put a knife at his neck.

His eyes widened when he recognized her and his body went very still.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded. “And I don’t mean your SHIELD mission, which you’ve been pretty bad about completing.”

“I want to offer you a chance,” he said. “Come with me and you can turn your life around. Help people, not kill them. In return, SHIELD will get other interested parties off your tail. You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself and I promise you there will be other people coming after you soon.”

“What gives you the impression I want to turn my life around? Haven’t you heard? Killing people really pays the bills. Government work does not.”

He didn’t reply, so she pressed the edge of the knife closer to his throat. Droplets of blood appeared on the blade like little red pearls.

“I saw you in Budapest. You saved that little girl even though that wasn’t your mission. That’s the only time you’ve ever abandoned a mark.”

“The man I was sent to kill died in the firefight anyway.”

“Yeah, after you left. You’re not as cold-hearted as you’d like me to think.” She dug the knife in deeper. His breath came in ragged bursts. “Fine then. Kill me. I’ve got no backup, no bow, and you’ve got me cornered here. Prove me wrong.”

“Shut up.”

Her hands trembled. Her hands never trembled.

“You can’t do it can you. You’re a good person, deep down. Let me give you the chance to do something with it.”

“Shut UP.”

The knife clattered to the ground. Why were her hands still trembling?

“Hey, it’s okay, look at me –”

Natalia ran.

…

2015

A man is on Natasha’s doorstep.

A man is on Natasha’s doorstep and he is known by many names. The world knows him either as the Winter Soldier or James Barnes, Steve knows him as Bucky, and Natasha? Natasha knows him as the man with the gentle voice whom she named Yasha.

“Hi Natasha,” he says, staring at his feet.

He looks terrible, objectively, subjectively, in all the ways that can be measured. Shadows pool in the circles under his eyes, and he’s hunched into his too-big sweatshirt in an effort to make himself appear smaller.

“Hello Yasha,” she says. “Do you want to come in?”

He shrugs, which she takes as a yes. She steps to the side and he shuffles in through the door.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks, just to make conversation. “I just put the kettle on.”

“Sure.”

Bucky stands motionless by the kitchen counter, unsure of what to do with himself, while Natasha pours them each a mug of steaming tea and pours honey in. She sets it down on table and when she sits, he follows her example.

“So what’s up?”

“I remember you,” he says instead of a response. “You were a lot smaller than you are now but you’re still the same you, I know that somehow. And you’ve said you remember me, so I know I can trust you.”

The way he says it tells her she’s probably one of the only people he trusts. Natasha knows better than to abuse that trust by frightening him off, so she lets him collect his scattered thoughts while staring into the depths of his mug.

“I hurt Steve,” he says finally. “That’s one of the other things I remember. I remember knowing him, when he was also smaller, and I remember him letting me hurt him on that helicarrier. But he’s helping me now, even after I almost killed him. Why?”

Natasha uses her finger to draw abstract designs on the condensation that coats her mug while she looks for the right words. “Part of it is just Steve. He couldn’t hurt someone he cares about any more than he could chop his own leg off. That’s just who he is. And he forgives you because you’re important to him and he trusts you.”

“But why? Why did he let me hurt him? Why did he stop fighting back?”

“Like I said, he can’t hurt those he cares about. But I think it was also just that he hoped. He hoped you weren’t completely gone, completely unsalvageable. I think – I think there was a part of him that hoped desperately that if he put his shield down and let you see him as a person, not just a soldier or an opponent, that maybe you would remember him.”

“That’s a damn fool hope to bet your life on,” Bucky says, his tone savage.

Natasha laughs, surprised. This is the most animated she’s ever seen Bucky since they found him. “Maybe. But it worked, didn’t it? Sometimes I think all you can do in a situation as awful as yours was, is just have faith in the other person and hope. It’s a flimsy thing to bet your life on, but sometimes it works.”

…

2006

“Hi, could you tell me where I can find Hawkeye please?”

The secretary at the desk gave her a disdainful look, but Natalia could tell her hand had shifted to grip the pistol taped to the underside of her desk. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m not an idiot. I know you’ve got a gun under the desk, and I know it’s probably a Glock 21, since that’s the standard SHIELD firearm. Oh, and I know this isn’t a graphic design firm.”

The secretary’s eagle gaze sharpened. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave right now or I will notify security.”

“Or you can stop playing games and tell Hawkeye the Black Widow is here to talk to him about his offer.” She offered the woman a small smile. “I didn’t know how else to get in touch with him.”

The secretary studied Natalia further, then carefully removed her hand from under the desk. She typed something into her computer and said something unintelligible into her headset. Someone must have replied, because she pointed her at a chair, presumably to wait.

An uncomfortable five minutes passed in which the security guards and the secretary pretended they weren’t watching her and she didn’t bother to pretend she didn’t know it.

The elevator dinged and out walked Hawkeye next to a tall man dressed all in black.

Right. Director Nicholas J. Fury. Natalia wasn’t exactly surprised he was here for this, but she had hoped some time would pass before she had to meet him.

“Black Widow.” Hawkeye’s excitement was obvious. “I’m glad you came.”

“Natalia,” she said. “I’m Natalia Romanova.”

Hawkeye grinned. “I’m Clint. Clint Barton.”

“And I’m Director Fury, glad we’ve all made our introductions so let’s get right to it already.”

Natalia followed them into the elevator. Right before the doors closed, she waved goodbye to the secretary. She rolled her eyes.

Natalia liked her.

She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Barton and Fury were taking her to a more secure area so that she couldn’t escape or hurt people. She didn’t blame them. If she were in there shoes, that would’ve been the smart thing to do.

They finally got to an empty interrogation room. She sat down across from both of them. Barton gave her a small smile in support.

The negotiation process was long and boring. Amnesty from SHIELD, then amnesty from national governments, agreements that she wouldn’t renege on the deal, a tracker chip in her arm for the first year, pay, security clearance, and finally job benefits. SHIELD had surprisingly good dental coverage, she would say that.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” said Director Fury at last. “I’m glad to have you join us.”

Natalia had the feeling she’d be seeing a lot more of him in the future.

Fury left her and Barton in the room with a stack of paperwork a mile high. She could already feel the neck cramp coming on just by looking at it. See, this was why she had never joined government security organizations. Too much damn paperwork.

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” offered Barton. “And I’m supposed to take you to your apartment, at least the one you’ll be staying in until…”

“Until SHIELD trusts me,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m perfectly aware of the security risk I must pose to them, don’t worry, I won’t complain about a couple bugs in my living room. I did after all kill people for money until very recently.”

The apartment was a nearby building that looked so perfectly ordinary it just had to be owned by SHIELD. Natalia noted more than six different alarm systems, bulletproof reinforced windows and walls, and a whole slew of other security measures. If she so much as breathed the wrong way, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a gun hidden somewhere primed to put a bullet in her head.

“So I’ll be around in the morning to bring you to job orientation or whatever they call it here,” said Barton. “I don’t really remember much of my own orientation, which is kinda weird considering it was only like a year ago. Whatever. Um, I wouldn’t recommend going out for a walk tonight, SHIELD is probably gonna be super vigilant until you prove you’re not gonna snap and kill us all or whatever. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, thanks for not killing me the other day. That would’ve probably sucked.”

Barton turned to leave.

“What do you want from me?” Natalia asked, before she lost her nerve. “Do you want to fuck me, is that what it is? Are you trying to atone for your past sins or whatever by saving poor little assassin me? Because when normal people come across an assassin, they’re usually perfectly willing to pull the trigger. I’ve killed a lot of innocent people you know. There are plenty of assassinations I don’t regret. What makes you think I can change?”

Barton stood there in the doorway for a while, chewing over what he was going to say. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I honestly don’t know why I’m sticking my neck out for you. No, I don’t want to fuck you, and no, I’m not using you as atonement or whatever. There’s just something about you that I think tells me could do some good for this world. And I think there’s some part of you, no matter how small, that regrets your past actions, that does feel some remorse. You saved that little girl. Many people would not have. You’re an incredibly skilled person, but you can use those skills for more than just killing. You can be whoever you want to be.”

Despite all her defenses, she could feel a small part of herself start to break at those words.

“I don’t –” She cleared her throat to steady her voice. “I don’t really know who I want to be.”

“That’s up to you to figure out, Natalia.”

“Natasha.”

“Sorry?”

A memory, fragile and beautiful, unfurled in her mind. She was eight and she was in a beautiful London café. And she was happy. “Natasha. I’m not – I’m not Natalia anymore, not exactly. I’m Natasha. Natasha Romanoff.”

The edge of Clint’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Okay. So Natasha, who do you want to be?”

“Good. I want to be someone good.”

…

_The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again._

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to ninaja for betaing.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at thundersnowstorm for Marvel blogging, meta, and a lot of crying over Natasha Romanoff.


End file.
